


all this delusion in our heads (is gonna bring us to our knees)

by ceaseandexist



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drunk Louis, From the "trust" interview, M/M, Tour Fic, handjobs, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceaseandexist/pseuds/ceaseandexist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry trusts Louis the most, always has and always will, but maybe when asked he says it's Niall he trusts more because Louis never wants to be around Harry anymore and always spends all his time with Zayn. And maybe Louis can't handle that and drunkenly meanders into Harry's hotel room one night trying to gain Harry's trust back.</p><p>And maybe sex stuff happens because this is fic and that's how this works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this delusion in our heads (is gonna bring us to our knees)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this interview: http://0mglouist.tumblr.com/post/113716855191/here-is-the-whole-article
> 
> Title is from James Bay's "Let it go"

“Niall,” Harry says, barely a second to think between the question and the answer. Harry avoids looking at Louis no matter how much he’s tempted to do so. Louis has Zayn now. That’s probably the first person who comes to mind when Louis thinks of the word “trust”. Club Zap and smoking up together and his partner-in-crime and all that. 

Harry’s replaceable. Louis has made that one quite clear. And you don’t trust people who are replaceable, do you? 

 

***

 

Harry’s just gotten in from a night out in Phuket when he hears the thunk against his hotel door. It sounds like someone’s thrown something at it, but then there’s a crash and a loud “fuck you” in a voice that definitely belongs to Louis. And because Harry can’t seem to find an ounce of self-preservation, he goes to the door just like he shouldn’t and opens it to find a drunken Louis in a heap at his feet and a broken lamp in pieces just in front of the accent table in the hallway.

Louis tilts his head back so he’s looking up at Harry like he’s sat at the bottom of those X-Factor stairs and Harry’s on the top step. His hair’s a mess and he’s still in the clothes he wore on stage earlier, a black sleeveless top and black skinnies with his black Vans, as if he’s suddenly allergic to color, but he reeks of booze - whiskey, it seems - and his hair’s a little wet. 

“Harry!” Louis cheers and raises his fist as if to root on Harry, but he must have forgotten he was holding himself up with that arm and tumbles, the back of his head thumping against the carpet. 

Harry’s still a little drunk from earlier, but he’s in a state where he’s responsible enough to know getting Louis back to his room will be more hassle than it’s worth, so he just leans down, scoops Louis up, and carries him into the hotel room. 

“Hey!” Louis protests, pounding his fist against Harry’s chest. “Just cause, just like, since you’re bigger than me, y’can’t just do that.”

But Harry ignores him. He dumps Louis on the couch, and Louis curls up in the fetal position looking like he’s ready for a nap while Harry sets about getting Louis a bottle of water and a glass with ice because Louis likes his water cool when he’s drunk like this. He puts it down in front of Louis and stands there, not knowing what to do with himself. 

“I can’t do that?” Harry finally says, raising his eyebrows at Louis with his hands on his hips — the picture of a perfectly composed human being (hopefully). “Because it looks like I just did.”

Louis frowns at him but chugs some of the water anyway. 

“D’you need a blanket or anything else?” Harry asks. The quicker he can get into bed and pretend to be asleep, the better. 

Louis shakes his head so hard some of the water dribbles down his chin. It’s adorable even though it really shouldn’t be. “Jus’, I jus need to talk to you about something. S’important.” 

And Harry knows this is where he should let Louis down easy, tell him they’ll talk in the morning, pretend like his phone is ringing or something, anything to avoid this conversation. Instead, Harry wordlessly sits down on the coffee table across from the couch.

“No,” Louis whines. He reaches out and grabs for Harry’s wrist, his fingers locking around it so he can pull Harry to the couch with him. Harry’s smart enough to scoot away from Louis’s crotch, but Louis still winds his body around Harry and rests his head in Harry’s lap. He drinks some more water and spills a drop of it on Harry’s thigh, which isn’t nearly enough of a distraction from how nice the heat of Louis’s breath feels against Harry’s body. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Harry asks. “Had a nice time out tonight with Zayn?” 

“Why didn’t you come with us?” Louis asks. His brows are furrowed as if this is truly confusing to him, as if he hasn’t kept Harry out of his Zayn-obsession for nearly a year now. 

“Didn’t think I was invited,” Harry says, but only because Louis probably won’t remember this discussion in the morning.

Louis shakes his head in outrage. “I’d always invite you, Harry. Always! But you don’t, you don’t wanna come. Don’t trust me, yeah? Cuz, I don’t know why, really, cuz I trust you, Harry. I’d always trust you first. I’d say right away, I’d say Harry. I trust Harry. But you trust Niall.”

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, which Louis seems to take as an invitation to scoot closer to Harry, his lips nearly brushing Harry’s stomach. Harry had obviously taken his shirt off the second he’d gotten in from the club. He’s lucky he decided to leave his trousers on a little longer. 

“I trust you, Lou,” Harry finally says.

But Louis doesn’t seem to agree. “No!” he argues, slapping at Harry’s chest before leaving his hand there. He has to be able to feel Harry’s heart speeding up underneath his palm. “That’s not what you said! You said Niall! She asked, and you said, you told her. You said Niall.”

Harry sighs. He just can’t do this tonight. It’s been too hard the last week to watch Louis and Zayn just together constantly, too hard to see what he used to have with Louis, what he thought was an unbreakable bond, transferred over to one of his best mates. And it’s too hard, because as much as Harry doesn’t want to, he still misses Louis, misses his sharp wit and his perfectly timed humor and his unbeatable knack for listening to Harry’s problems as if they’re the most important thing in the world. He misses being able to throw an arm around Louis’s shoulder without Louis wincing, or being able to hug him in public or giggle into the curve of Louis’s neck. So he slips a hand into Louis’s hair, scratches at Louis’s scalp just the way Louis likes, until he knows he has Louis’s attention.

Harry’s looking into Louis’s eyes then, eyes the color of the Thai sea they flew over just the day before. He stares into those eyes as he tells him. “I never stopped trusting you, Lou. You’re the first person I think of every time. I just said Niall for a laugh.” 

Louis doesn’t seem to get it. He just frowns and drags his hand down Harry’s chest, leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. “But you said Niall. She asked and you said Niall. I heard it.”

There’s only one way to prove it to Louis, then, and Harry knows it. So he sighs and pushes Louis away briefly so he can lay down and snuggle Louis properly on the couch. Louis molds himself to Harry’s body instantly, curls up on his side next to Harry and throws a possessive leg over Harry’s waist. 

“Trust me, yeah?” Harry says. He turns his head so they’re nose-to-nose, Louis’s eyes still clouded with confusion and a bit of sadness. 

“Why would you say Niall?” Louis repeats, his voice small and broken. 

And Harry can’t answer him because he knows words won’t get through to Louis, so he does the only thing he knows how to do. He leans in and brushes his lips against Louis’s just to feel them again, nothing more. And it’s like it always is, tingly and warm and inviting and irresistible, but Louis doesn’t take over the way he normally does, doesn’t start anything. For the briefest moment, Harry wonders if Louis even wants to do this anymore, but he’s gotten this far already, so Harry just leads the way himself and kisses Louis then, gentle, and Harry remembers those days years ago now when this was the easiest thing in the world to do, laying on couches kissing Louis for hours on end. 

It isn’t the easiest thing in the world this night, because now Harry’s chest is tight and he almost wants to cry, and it’s terrible to have to feel that way when he’s finally got his lips on Louis’s again. 

Louis, for all of his drunken haze, finally figures and scrambles on top of Harry for better leverage. He slips a hand into Harry’s hair and tugs, and Harry can’t help but groan into Louis’s mouth. His stomach flutters. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of him that Harry didn’t even know he was carrying.

“Hazza,” Louis whispers, then grinds his hips into Harry’s. “Hazza, can we? Please?”

Louis doesn’t beg often. He used to leave that to Harry. Louis was always the one in control because he needed that, needed to be able to control at least one thing in his life, and anyway, Harry liked to be led. He liked to be told exactly what to do next. So he’s a little lost to have Louis asking for permission. He can’t do anything else but nod hurriedly and move his lips to Louis’s neck, bite down just where it starts to curve into Louis’s jaw, the place Louis likes best.

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis whines. His hands are everywhere, like they can’t settle on what part of Harry they want to feel most, so Harry slips his hands between them and undoes the buttons on both their trousers. He shoves his own down before reaching into Louis’s, finds Louis hot and mostly hard in his pants. 

“How do you want it?” Harry asks. He gives Louis a quick tug before Louis can answer, then leans in to kiss him again. It was supposed to be brief, but Louis traces his tongue against the seam of Harry’s lips and gets him to open up, absent-mindedly thrusting into Harry’s hand while his tongue thrashes against Harry’s. Harry wants this to be more — he really, really does — but he can’t seem to stop himself and slow down now that he’s started. He kisses Louis over and over, rough and biting followed by smooth and placating kisses, and he just keeps wanking Louis off until Louis can’t kiss him anymore, rests his forehead against Harry’s cheek as he pants against him.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “Let go.”

Louis’s forehead is sweaty against Harry’s cheek, slick enough to slip a little as Louis shakes his head. “Don’t — ah — don’t wanna. Don’t want to stop,” he whines, and it’s like all the air has been punched out of Harry. Because the thing is, Harry forced himself ages ago to stop dreaming that something like this would happen. It was hard enough to get Louis to be open with his feelings when things were good between them, so to have Louis in his lap now, like this, totally at Harry’s mercy and never wanting Harry to stop, Harry can’t deal. 

So he shifts his hips up, and they both gasp when Harry’s cock nudges up against Louis’s. Louis is so hard against him, stiff enough that there’s pressure against the head of Harry’s cock when he ruts against Louis. Harry licks his hand as quick as he can. This won’t last no matter how much they both want it to — it’s just been too long. Harry tries his best to stop his hand from shaking as he wraps it around both of them. He wanks them off in a frenzy, like they’re still teenagers who can’t control themselves, and it’s so, so good. Harry’s hand is kind of rough from trying to figure out the guitar with Niall, and the combination of his own hand and Louis’s heat against him is deliciously overwhelming, like a dream really. Harry splays his other hand across the center of Louis’s back, loves the way he can stretch his fingers wide enough to reach both of Louis’s shoulder blades, and he digs in with his nails, hoping it leaves a mark, as if he’s reclaiming Louis or something.

Louis moans brokenly and tugs harder on Harry’s hair. “So good, Hazza. Always so good. Gonna come.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. He can’t help but smile as he speeds up his hand. “Do it then.”

When Louis finally comes, splashes of it landing on Harry’s stomach, Harry can feel the jolt of it down to his toes and he can’t help himself, coming just seconds later between their chests so they’re both a sticky, wet mess. It’s nice, at first. Harry kind of likes the feeling of being covered in Louis’s jizz, but it never feels as nice in the morning. He should get up, should clean up, but there’s a Louis on top of him and Harry doesn’t want to move him. Louis has never cared much about messes, and he’s no different now. He collapses on top of Harry and wraps both arms tight around him, nestles his head into the crook of Harry’s shoulder. 

“Lou, c’mon, let’s clean up,” Harry says, but he can already feel Louis’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin as Louis fights to stay awake.

“Jus’ five more minutes. Jus’ five,” Louis mutters. And of course they don’t move in five minutes, because then Louis is snoring into Harry’s neck, his arms locked so tightly around Harry that Harry couldn’t move if he wanted to. 

So Harry settles in instead. He strokes Louis’s hair in an attempt to re-memorize the way it feels between his fingers, breathes in as much of Louis’s scent — grass, a little bit of weed, and a hint of cologne — as he can find beneath the whiskey and wishes that he could bottle it up into a fragrance to keep for himself in the back of one of his bathroom drawers.

This will hurt tomorrow when everything goes back to the way it was. Harry knows that. But at least Louis knows now that Harry still trusts him. That it’s not Niall, never has been.

It’s Louis, and it always will be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: ceaseand-exist.tumblr.com


End file.
